


On Honour

by sternenblumen



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Introspection, liberal abuse of parentheses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:14:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22302445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternenblumen/pseuds/sternenblumen
Summary: He sometimes wonders what his father would think of his honour now, and of that of the men that he associates with today.d'Artagnan reflects on his new life.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	On Honour

d'Artagnan's father had done his best to instil in his son a sense of honour, and the son had taken all of these lessons to heart, if maybe less eagerly than those on horseback riding and sword-fighting.

He sometimes wonders what his father would think of his honour now, and of that of the men that he associates with today. They drink excessively (mostly Athos, but the other two are not exactly pictures of restraint, either), they cheat (mostly Porthos, that one), they gamble and charm their way into women's beds (that's only Aramis, most of the time). They're quick to draw steel at the slightest provocation, especially if the one provoking them is wearing a red uniform, and they fight and kill with seemingly little (Aramis) to no (Athos) regard to the fate of their immortal souls. They are soldiers and follow orders but if they think they can get away with it, they bend the rules to their breaking point to get what they want.

And he follows their example. He doesn't drink as much (he frankly doesn't have the stomach for it) and doesn't cheat (he's terrible at it), but his sword jumps even more readily into his hand now, along with a quip and an insult quick on his lips. He has lost track of how many men he had fought and killed since coming to the city, and when had he last been to confession? And while his father had known love, had known how it felt like you could not breathe when the one you loved was not at your side (but he had learned to breathe anyway, for his son), he might not think it honourable to hold it more important than the sacred oath of marriage, as ill-fitting and loveless as that marriage may be.

He suspects his father might be disappointed in the man he has become.

But a part of him, the part that remembers being nine years old and understanding that his mother was gone and it was only his father and him now, that remembers the weight of him in his arms, drowning in rain and in blood, that part still wants to hear him say it. If only to know his father was alive to disapprove of his choices.

His father may not have liked the men he is calling friends now.

But then he remembers hours spent searching for the proof of innocence of their friend, racing against the clock, against the shooting squad raising their muskets, the hangman raising his axe. He remembers an arm across his throat and brown eyes blazing at him in defence of the one missing. He remembers secrets, spilt in the flickering light of a fire, tragic stories shared in the Bonacieuxs' courtyard. Wounds gouged by love and duty, barely scabbed over. Rules bent not only for each other (for brotherhood), but also for France, her King and Queen, and for a justice no one in France, not her courts and not her King, and sometimes, it seems, not even God (certainly not His highest representative here in their city), is willing to give to them.

There might be honour in that.

And even if it is different, even if it is not what he had been taught, maybe his father would see it, too.

And he might approve, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> This just popped into my head yesterday evening, possibly triggered by some comments on Tumblr and thinking of the final scene of S1, and demanded to be written. Set vaguely around S1x07.
> 
> I hope you like it, and I'd love if you'd tell me so with a comment or kudos :).


End file.
